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INHABITED
Endless lobotomies while hopeless, dragged through sunrise rows to offer me a home.
Ghostly skins on lights that shiver while suggesting what to own. They’re better left alone.
Well it’s better left alone.
Sirens shaven, yellow, outside, demanding fire’s glow. The flames catch and burn out of control.
Recall them feeding off the packaging, ready to blow before you crawl back in your hole.
Back to your hole.
So, if you could feed yourself.
If you feed yourselves.
If you could see yourselves, you would take it slow. You’d take it slow.
Greasy avenues contaminated, sanded, painted gold cause it’s better not to know.
Vibrant migraines pulsing in and out from shadows. It’s all tied into the show, and it’s better not to know
Until the ashes starve, before the new source code, somewhere down the road.
Recall them vomit up the radiation they’ve all swallowed before you crawl back in your hole.
Back to your hole.
So, if you could feed yourself.
If you feed yourselves.
If you could see yourselves, you would take it slow. You’d take it slow.

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House of the Rising GunFlorida

10s industrial/metal band, HOTRG, was killed in a horrific nightclub fire during a gig attended by a talent scout who
could've broken them into the mainstream while teaching them a valuable life lesson. In 2016, Xenu himself sent the boys back to Earth for a battle of the bands where they would compete against time travelers, The Wild Stallions, and lose. Now they're stuck in this reality....more